


Too Dry To Cry

by Killjoy_Linnea



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a little bit of smut, but blink and you'll miss it, dallas get sick and johnny cares for him, there's hinting at past dallas/tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 04:19:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14584806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killjoy_Linnea/pseuds/Killjoy_Linnea
Summary: Dallas doesn't show for three days and Johnny goes searching for him. He finds Sodapop Curtis, Tim Shepard, a childhood home and a bad cold.OR, Dallas gets sick and naturally falls of the face of the earth trying to hide it. Johnny figures that for once Dallas shouldn't have to take care of himself, all by himself.





	Too Dry To Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I have been writing this on and off for a year so i'm happy it gets to see the light of day now. 
> 
> Thanks to Elsa. It was her idea to have Dallas sick and Johnny to care for him and if it wasn't for her, this fic would not exist. I'm forever grateful for her and her input. 
> 
> This can be seen as a continuation of my fic I wanna make you my business, but it doesn't have to be :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this.

“Are you even listening?” Ponyboy’s tone is sharp and Johnny tears his eyes off the front door to look at him. Ponyboy’s face falls from irritation to concern so fast that Johnny barely has time to notice the first. Johnny hurries to answer, so Pony won’t ask another question. 

“I’ll pay attention, go on.” 

Pony looks at Johnny and slowly closes the novel. “I think you’ll really enjoy this book and I don’t want you to miss out,” he says and then; “What are you thinking about?”

Johnny shrugs. His thoughts sit awkwardly on the tip of his tongue, and the twisting feeling in his gut makes him second guess whether he should say anything at all. He wants to resist, but his body’s growing restless with worry. “I don’t know, man… I just. Have you seen Dally lately?”

Ponyboy’s eyes narrow with suspicion. Johnny pretends he doesn’t notice. 

“I saw him when he was here on Monday. When did you last see him?”

“Same as you.”

Johnny absentmindedly bites his nails, or rather the skin next to them. It’s a painful, nervous habit, but it helps him stay focused. Pony swats at his hand. 

“Stop it, you’re bleeding,” he chastises and Johnny lets his hand fall to his lap, blood trickling down his cuticle. 

“Today’s Thursday,” he says quietly. 

“Maybe he left,” Pony suggests, re-opening Catcher in the Rye and making himself comfortable in the corner of the couch. “Don’t worry, Dallas can look out for himself.” 

Johnny silently disagrees, he knows Dallas would never leave town without telling him. Not unless he was in a real hurry, and that thought isn’t comforting either. No matter what, something has happened. For a split second, Johnny pictures Dally shot and bleeding in an alley. Lonely. Dying. He quickly shakes the image from his mind and hurries to the door. Ponyboy looks up from his book, but doesn’t say a thing as Johnny disappears, letting the door close behind him. Johnny knows Pony is trying his best to understand it, understand them, but he simply can’t. Johnny doesn’t blame him.

 

-

 

The rain is merciless. Johnny’s t-shirt is sticking to his torso, even his jacket is almost soaked through. The bell above the door chimes as Johnny leaps into the DX store. Soda stands behind the counter, talking animatedly to a customer. At the sound of the bell, Soda looks over the customer’s shoulder and winks at Johnny without missing a beat in his conversation. Johnny dives in behind a shelf, not wanting to disturb Soda while he’s working. The customer leaves with a magazine and bubbling laughter. 

“You can quit lurking around now,” Soda calls from the counter. Johnny pops out from behind the shelf. Soda’s stacking packs of cigarettes in their respective holder, still grinning. No one really thought about how often Soda smiled until the Curtis brothers’ parents died and he suddenly didn’t. Since then, the whole gang was more appreciative of the happy-go-lucky mood. Soda gives Johnny a long look, his eyebrows slowly falling into a frown. 

“Johnnycake! You better get home and out of those clothes, man. What can I do for you?”

Johnny hesitates and Sodapop is not late to take notice. 

“Are you alright, buddy?” he asks, dropping the packs and turning his full attention to Johnny.

“Yeah,” Johnny says, trying to stall. “Could you get me a pack of Kool?”

“Sure.” Soda slides it cross the counter and gives Johnny a peculiar look. “You came all this way for a pack of smokes?”

 

Johnny hands over his last few dollars. “Yes. I mean. No...”

Soda puts his forearms against the counter and leans forward. “What’s going on?”

Johnny figures it’s better to cut to the chase. “Have you seen Dallas since Monday?”

Soda’s look reveals nothing but he thinks for longer than usual before answering. Johnny squirms. 

“No…” Soda says slowly. “But I heard he had something to take care of with Shepard’s boys last night. Why’d ya ask?”

Johnny shrugs in what he hopes is a careless manner. “Just wonderin’. He was supposed to meet me in the lot yesterday.”

“Hey, don’t worry. He’ll be okay,” Soda says and reaches out to squeeze Johnny’s shoulder. “Dal knows how to take care of himself.”

“He only knows ‘cause nobody ever took care of him,” Johnny says, shaking his head. “It ain’t right.” Just then, Soda gets a weird look in his eyes and his expression softens. Johnny pockets the cigarettes and heads toward the exit. 

“Get out of those clothes as quickly as you can, Johnny, or you’ll get pneumonia.” Johnny raises his hand in acknowledgement, but doesn’t look back.

 

-

 

Johnny doesn’t like neither Buck nor Buck’s. Buck’s is too warm and rowdy. The place is always filled with drunk people by the time Dallas manages to convince him to go. Buck is too cold and mean. The look in his eyes tells Johnny he thinks nothing of him and Johnny knows that look all too well to want to spend time with those who possess it. Johnny thinks the only thing keeping Buck from hurting him is Dallas. Buck knew it before the Bob-incident, but afterwards everyone else knew too: If you don’t want Dallas Winston on your ass, you stay the hell away from Johnny Cade. Tim Shepard is too much like Dal for Johnny to ever be able to dislike him or be afraid of him. 

 

Tim and Buck are carrying boxes from a van to the bar when Johnny gets there. He catches a glimpse of their backs as they disappear through the door and contemplates leaving before they come back. He doesn’t. They’re laughing when they return. Buck stops when he sees Johnny. He scoffs at his presence, but doesn’t say anything - just grabs another box.

“Hi Johnny,” Tim says, while Buck walks past him and disappears again. “Are you looking for Dallas?” Tim is nearly as drenched as Johnny, but the rain has let off and the sun cuts through the thinning clouds. Tim peers up at it hopefully once he’s greeted Johnny. 

“You know where he is? Soda said he was with you last night,” Johnny says. He picks the pack off Kool from his pocket and offers one to Tim. The gesture has Tim smiling and he tries to brush his hands off on his blue jeans before accepting the cigarette. He sits down on the wooden bench standing by the wall of the bar. Johnny stands beside him and waits impatiently. He knows Tim can’t be rushed - under any circumstances. Tim lights the smoke and takes a drag before answering. Johnny pulls at his t-shirt which sticks to his torso in an uncomfortable manner.

“He was supposed to be with me last night, but he didn’t show up.”

Johnny tries really hard not to show how his heart sinks into his stomach. He nods once and lights a cigarette of his own to keep his thoughts from racing.

“When did you last see him?” Tim asks, offering a lopsided smile. 

Johnny exhales the smoke slowly. “Monday.” 

 

Buck comes back empty handed and stops to watch Tim and Johnny smoke. 

“Want one?” Johnny asks, searching his pockets for the pack. Buck snorts.

“I can afford my own smokes, kid.”

“Lighten up, Buck,” Tim admonishes. “He’s looking for Dallas. Have you seen him?”

Buck thinks for a moment, then looks straight at Johnny. Johnny holds his gaze steadily.

“He hasn’t slept here since Monday night. Haven’t seen him since. Did you ask Sodapop or Steve?”

“Soda hasn’t seen him either,” Johnny replies and Buck nods.

“You don’t have to run after him. He’ll be fine.” 

Johnny feels a blush spreading over his cheeks. Buck doesn’t notice, he hauls another box from the van and goes. Tim drops his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. 

“I think it’s nice,” he says, looking at Johnny. “Dal needs that in his life… Someone who worries about him.”

Johnny nods, biting the inside of his cheek. There’s something in Tim’s eyes, like he _knows_ something that Johnny doesn’t. Tim grabs the last box from the van and Buck calls for him from the bar.

“Check out Pine Hill. He holds up there sometimes when he doesn’t want to be found,” Tim says in a tone kind enough to be a rarity. 

 

-

 

Pine Hill turns out to be all the way across town from Buck’s. It takes Johnny an hour to walk and by the time he arrives, his clothes are just a bit more than damp. The sun has warmed his previously chilly skin and managed to encourage him for a while, though it’s fading quickly as he stops at the address. Johnny is sure he has followed Tim’s instructions correctly, but this really can’t be it. The apartment building ain’t that high, but Johnny still feels tiny in comparison. It’s a nice house. The facade is whole and white, along it, there are flowerbeds in full bloom. It’s a nice clean neighbourhood and Johnny feels like a speck of dirt on the sidewalk. For a moment, he wonders if Tim and Buck are playing him by sending him into Socs territory, on his own - looking for Dallas. Just to see if he’d do it. He remembers the kindness in Tim’s tone and thinks better of it. Tim wouldn’t do that to another greaser, even if he hated ‘em. He straightens his back and strides up the stairs to the upper apartment. He knocks harshly on the door, three times. It takes a long time before the dull, shuffling steps reaches the door and the lock turns.

 

Dallas is paler than usual and somehow it makes his thinness more prominent. Black, loose pants hang lowly on his hips, and he has no shirt on. His brown hair is wild and tousled and Johnny isn’t sure he has ever seen Dallas like this. He can’t help but stare a moment too long. Dallas closes the door a bit more and there’s something urgent in his eyes as he asks;

“How’d you find me?” His voice is quieter and raspier than normal and it doesn’t sound bad as much as it sounds wrong. 

“Tim told me.” Johnny almost expects Dallas to slam the door in his face, but he only curses vehemently until he’s cut off by a horrible cough. 

“What do you want?” he asks, tired now. His eyes are roaming over Johnny’s person as if he was searching for something, before they finally settle for looking into Johnny’s.

“I just wanted to see if you’re alright…” 

“I’m fine,” Dal interrupts. “Get lost.”

“You are not fine. You’re sick.” Johnny protests, giving Dallas an unimpressed look. 

“None of your business, kid. Don’t you got homework to do?” 

“When was the last time you ate?” Johnny asks, ignoring him. “I can make some food and then split if you want to.”

“I don’t need your pity, Johnny Cade.” Dallas says, looking tired. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Dallas pulls on the door, but Johnny shoots his foot out, jamming it in the doorway. Dallas makes a frustrated grunt. 

“Look, man, I just…” Johnny takes a quick breath. “I don’t pity you, you know I don’t. I guess… I guess I just missed you. I worry, okay? I’m a worrier.” 

He looks down at his worn shoes, shoving his hands into his jeans’ pockets. He can feel Dallas’ surprised stare burning through him. He withdraws his foot from the door and expects it to slam, but it doesn’t. 

“Are you done?”  Johnny looks up, finding Dallas biting back a grin. “Get in.”

Dallas looks him up and down one final time before turning around and disappearing into the apartment. Johnny hears him muttering obscenities about Tim, but pays it no mind. 

 

The apartment is bigger than Johnny expected when he stood outside. He kicks off his shoes in the narrow hall and from there he enters the living room. There’s also a kitchen and two other rooms, one of them with the door closed. In the other, Johnny can see parts of a bed and a wardrobe. Johnny wonders if Dallas broke in or how on earth he got his hands on this place. There’s no way he can afford it on his own. There’s a nest on the couch in the livingroom. Johnny really can’t describe it any other way. There’s blankets and pillows and a quilt all in a bundle. 

“How long have you been sick?” Johnny asks, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

“Tuesday,” Dallas mutters, flopping onto the couch and disappearing into the nest. “Do whatever you want, just don’t break anything.”

“Sure, Dal. I’ll be careful.”

Dallas grunts in response. 

 

Johnny trods into the kitchen and spends some time standing in the middle of it, filled with hesitance. Everything is so clean and new and he doesn’t want to ruin anything. He glances back into the living room and catches a glimpse of Dally in his nest and his heart skips a beat. He needs someone to help him out. Johnny suspects he’s the most qualified for the job, so without further ado he opens every cabinet and drawer, scanning the materials and the food at hand. After a quick inventory, he nods to himself. He can work with this. 

 

Only a patch of hair is visible from under the duvet when Johnny returns with a plate of food. Unintentionally, Johnny lowers his voice to a mere whisper; “Dallas?”

No answer. Johnny sets the plate down on the coffee table and reaches out to pull the duvet down. Dallas is sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a steady pace. Johnny glances at the food. It’s going to get cold, but he doesn’t have the heart to wake Dallas up. He leaves it there, on the table, and explores the apartment. For the first time since he arrived, the thought of the owners returning crosses his mind. He won’t be able to get Dallas out quick enough if anyone comes in. They’d both end up in the cooler. He hurries to a window, but sees no one on the street outside. Nothing in the hallway tells any tales about who might live in an apartment like this. Maybe a small-town banker. Or a lawyer. A lawyer would make sense, he thinks. 

 

He sneaks through the living room into the bedroom he saw earlier. It’s pristine and tidy, white cover on the bed, two bedside tables. The wardrobe doors glide open without a sound and shows only anonymous, well-folded clothes. Suit jackets on hangers, all in the same dull shades of grey and brown. Maybe the lawyer theory will hold up. Another section of the wardrobe holds skirts and dresses, some colourful scarves. One of the dresses is a simpler model, light pink with blue flowers on it. Johnny briefly touches the fabric of it and closes his eyes. It reminds him of a late summer night, long ago. There’s blood on the fabric and he can’t even tell who’s it is - his mother’s, his father’s, or his own. Johnny sniffs and the unfamiliar scent on the fabric rattles him from the memory. He quickly closes the wardrobe doors and steps back. His mother used to own a dress like that. He glances at the bedside table, but there’s nothing but a lamp and an alarm clock. On the other side of bed, it’s the same items. 

 

He finds it when he turns around to leave. Behind the now open door, there’s a chest of drawers he hadn’t seen when he came in. There’s a framed photo on top of it. Johnny lifts it up carefully, inspecting it closely in an attempt to process what he’s looking at. It can’t be. There’s three people, a family, in the photo. It’s not professionally taken, they seem to be at an ice-cream bar or a restaurant. They are all sitting in a booth together - a child, a son, is sitting between a woman and a man. He’s offering the man a spoonful of ice-cream, a blinding smile on his face. His eyes are shining. Johnny knows that face better than anyone, but he’s never seen that glitter in Dallas’ eyes, never seen a smile that big that’s not a wolfish type of grin. It’s fascinating. Dallas was probably around six when the photo was taken, but looks so much like himself. He’s wearing a shirt. Johnny has seen the inside of Dally’s closet and there sure ain’t no shirts in there these days, - only t-shirts in plain black and white. He isn’t sure if it worries him more or less that they’re in Dallas’ home. 

 

Before Johnny can have a proper think about these new facts, there’s worrying sound from the living room. There’s a wail, or a groan, Johnny can’t really place it and he runs out of the living room after putting the photograph back on its spot. Dallas is a bit more visible in the nest now. His head and shoulders are uncovered and Johnny slowly walks closer to try to see what’s wrong. Dallas’ features are no longer peaceful, he’s frowning and shivering, despite sweating. Johnny puts a hand on his neck and as he thought, Dally’s burning hot. He whimpers softly and Johnny almost jumps back in fright. He doesn’t really know what to do, but his body seems to be moving on its own as he sits down by Dally’s head and starts to gently pull his fingers through his hair. Dallas’ shifts and Johnny holds a breath until Dallas settles again, now with his head in Johnny’s lap. Johnny briefly wonders what would happen if Dal woke up right now, like this, so close. He doesn’t though. He sleeps on and Johnny keeps carding his fingers through his hair. It’s thick and sort of unwashed, but Johnny doesn’t mind. Not at all. 

 

-

 

Dallas doesn’t wake up until Johnny moves. He sees Johnny’s back disappearing and quick as a snake he reaches out to grab his wrist. Johnny jumps and tries desperately to find his balance and turn around at the same time. It’s not until he turns that Dallas sees the full plate he’s holding and lets go of Johnny’s wrist.

“Shit, man. Is that cold? How long was I out?”

Johnny’s hair is a mess. It’s partly damp and the dry tuffs look very soft and fluffy due to lack of grease which usually holds it down. Dallas wonders if it has rained and how Johnny got here. 

He smiles. “I don’t know, a few hours maybe. I’ll just stuff it in the fridge, Dal.”

“No, no.” Dallas swings his feet over the edge of the couch and wraps a blanket over his shoulders like a cape. The whole room tilts and he has to close his eyes for a moment. “I’ll have it.”

Johnny gives him a look. “You don’t look like you wanna eat, man. It’s okay. It’ll be fine and just as cold later.”

“Quit talkin’ and get it over here,” Dallas snaps and Johnny puts the plate back in front of him. Dallas grabs a fork and looks at the food. It looks good, he knows it’ll be good, but damn it his stomach is turning just by looking at it. Johnny crosses his arms over his chest and Dallas feels like tossing the fork at him. 

“Fine,” he surrenders, throwing the fork on the table instead. “I can’t eat.”

Johnny once again takes the plate and shakes his head. He walks off to the kitchen and Dallas watches him as he goes. There’s a difference to Johnny when they’re alone. He’s more relaxed. His shoulders are never hunched up, there’s less tension in his expressions. He walks slowly and with his back straight. That kind of quiet self-confidence really suits him, Dallas thinks.

 

“Stop grinning, you little shit,” Dallas says, no heat behind it. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“A cold is like a hungover but more stubborn,” Johnny answers from the kitchen. “You’ve gotta sleep it off.” Dallas swears he has no good answer to that and instead opts to keep his mouth shut for once. He doesn’t know if it’s the apartment or the cold, but he’s shaking. Johnny appears again, leaning against the doorway.

“I could get you something else, if you want anything,” he says, looking thoughtful and a bit worried. “Soup or something, people eat that when they’re sick. I saw a cornerstore on my way here.”

“What are you gonna pay with?” Dallas huffs.

Johnny fights the blush spreading over his cheeks and loses. “Who said anything about payin’?”

“You ain’t stealing,” Dallas says, looking Johnny dead in the eyes. He sees Johnny’s about to get riled up over it, and though he sure ain’t a moralist, he ain’t dumb. “Who in this neighbourhood do you think would let you walk out of a store without searching ya’ if you ain’t walking up to the counter?” 

 

Johnny deflates at this argument and Dallas nods to confirm his point. Then the whole world trips again and he gestures vaguely at the heap of blankets and pillows on the couch, looking at Johnny.

“I’m just gonna…” he falls down on it and groans. He feels like his body is burning up with fever.

“Sure thing, Dal.”

“Would you mind doing that… that hair-thing?” Dallas knows he’s walking on the edge now and he wants to close his eyes to not have to see Johnny’s reaction. 

Johnny’s eyes grows two sizes. “Wh-What?”

“The hair-thing,” Dallas pulls his own fingers through his hair to demonstrate. There’s a blush on Johnny’s tanned cheeks and as he fails to answer, Dallas backtracks. 

“You don’t have to. I mean…”

“No, no,” Johnny tries to interrupt, quickly crossing the room.

“Forget I asked,” Dallas says stubbornly and turns his back on Johnny, now facing the back of the couch. Johnny ignores him and settles down by his head. As Dallas feels the couch shift, he glances up at Johnny. He scoots closer, putting his head on Johnny’s lap. Johnny says nothing, just cards his fingers through Dallas’ hair, until he falls asleep again.  

 

-

 

Dallas searches the heap of blankets for his smokes and can’t find it. Johnny slides one across the living room table. Dal opens the pack and takes a stick out, letting it sit between his lips. He reaches for his lighter on the table when he notices the way Johnny’s looking at him. He takes the cigarette between his fingers and points it at Johnny. “If you’re gonna be a pain in my ass about everything I do, you might s’well go bother someone else!”

“Are you going to smoke in here though, Dal? Won’t it… won’t the folks who live here know?”

Dallas blinks and sinks back against the pillows on the couch. “Damn it.”

“I’ll help you outside,” Johnny offers. 

“No, no,” Dallas waves him off. He doesn’t have the energy to get off the couch, but he doesn’t tell. 

 

“Who lives here anyway?” Johnny’s trying to sound casual about the whole thing, but Dallas sees right through him, as always. Suddenly there’s an uncomfortable tension in the room that is so tangible that the air seems to escape their breaths. 

“Why’d ya ask if you know already?” 

Johnny ignores the question. “What if they come home?”

“They’ll be home in two days,” Dallas says, keeping his eyes firmly set on the ceiling. 

“How’dya know that?” Johnny asks, fighting the urge to glance out the window to make sure.

Dallas sighs. “I know what I’m doing.” He doesn’t tell Johnny that it’s written on the calendar in the kitchen, or that he broke in through his bedroom window - just like he used to when he came back after sneaking out at night. The thought of his parents coming home before he leaves is sickening, but their precise planning hasn’t failed him in the past. 

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Dallas wonders, still pointedly  _ not _ looking at Johnny. 

Johnny shrugs, Dallas catches the movement in the corner of his eye. “Not if you don’t wanna talk about it, Dally.”

Dallas considers this, then offers; “We didn’t get along.” 

He doesn’t know why he says it - it’s not much, but it’s something and he feels like Johnny deserves to know. 

“Okay.” 

Dallas looks at the cigarette he’s still holding between his fingers. 

“Shoot. What does it matter if they know?” he asks no one in particular. It sits comfortably on his lower lip and the first drag is heavenly. It’s been too long. Johnny doesn’t say anything. Dallas offers him a drag from his cigarette for it. 

“Do you miss them?” 

Something flares up in Dallas’ chest. “Not that it’s any of your business, kid, but no I don’t. Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t,” Johnny shrugs again. “It doesn’t matter how you got to where you are, Dal. I’m glad you did, even if it makes me selfish.”

Dallas exhales the smokes and looks over at him. “Why’d that make you selfish?”

Johnny looks around the room, then at Dally. “It seems like this would have been an easier life to live.”

“You know nothing of this life, Johnny,” Dallas says with finality. He puts out the cigarette on an ashtray on the table and lights a new one.

“I can have the food now,” he says quietly. 

 

-

 

Dallas has had troubles keeping his eyes open for half an hour when Johnny throws his cards on the table. “You’re cheating, Dallas, don’t think I ain’t noticing.”

Johnny doesn’t expect Dallas to feel guilty about it and he’s not - he’s grinning from ear to ear, happier than Johnny’s seen him all day. It makes it hard to be upset with him.

“You can’t beat me, kid, just face it,” Dallas brags and he falls back against the couch with a satisfied sigh. Johnny shakes his head. It’s dark outside the windows and Johnny’s plans to give Ponyboy a call from the payphone down the street have all gone to waste. He’s not about to wander these streets alone in the dark. That’s asking for trouble. Dallas leans forward against gathers the cards in a pile on the table. He nods to the window. 

“Close that window, will ya’?”

Johnny shivers as he trips barefoot over the cold floors and gets caught in the breeze from the window. Dallas wraps himself up in the nest of blankets again. 

“You cold?” he asks as Johnny returns. 

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “Did you have to smoke so many sticks, man?” 

Dallas grumbles something inaudible before he lifts the blankets. 

”C’mere,” he says. Johnny’s heart skips a beat, but before his thoughts start racing he makes up his mind - he’s not going to overthink this. He pulls off his jeans and slips under the covers. It’s a slim couch and they’re both aware of it. Johnny turns his back on Dallas and closes his eyes. He feels Dallas’ naked chest against his back, warm like always. 

“You gonna fall off?” Dallas wonders, voice already drowsy. 

“Probably not,” Johnny answers, not even bothering to open his eyes. If he falls off, then so be it. It isn’t a long fall. Perhaps he should scoot down as soon as Dallas’ fallen asleep and save himself the hit. Dallas wraps an arm around Johnny and pulls him closer. Johnny’s heart stumbles and falls into the next beat. 

“How ‘bout now?” Dallas murmurs and Johnny feels his breath against the back of his neck.

“No.” It’s barely a whisper. Johnny relaxes, leans back against Dallas’ chest and allows himself to enjoy this moment - having someone so close. Having Dallas this close. He takes the one of Dallas’ hands that’s resting near his chest into his own and Dallas gives him a reassuring squeeze. Some time later, as Johnny is on the verge of sleep, he feels Dallas’ lips press against his neck. There’s no way to tell if it’s real or the beginning of a dream. 

 

-

 

The next morning Johnny wakes up to someone shaking him. Johnny sits up straight, his body reacting before he can process what’s going on. He tries to push the hands off until they push him down against the couch again and Johnny’s vision has cleared enough to finally realise it’s Dallas holding him, not his father. Dallas is sporting an expression that doesn’t sit well with Johnny. His jaw is set, his eyes dark and they give nothing away in terms of what set off this mood. He shakes Johnny one more time. Johnny winces and there’s a flash of apology in Dallas’ eyes. 

“Are you awake?” he asks, unnecessarily as Johnny is obviously looking right at him. He doesn’t wait for an answer either, but continues; “I’ve got to go, you can stay for another two hours if you want to, but then you better scramble if you don’t want to meet… the folks.” 

Johnny blinks as Dallas crosses the room, heading for the kitchen. The refrigerator opens, closes, and Dallas re-emerges with a carton of milk in his hands and a darker look in his eyes. 

“You got it?” he asks with a cold kind of stare. Johnny doesn’t know where to begin to work through everything happening. He doesn’t feel like it’s right to be in the apartment if Dallas leaves, the thought sinks like a stone to the pit of his stomach. He scrambles for his jeans. Pulling them on and following Dallas to the hall becomes one wobbly movement. 

“I’ll go too,” Johnny hurries to say, locating his shoes. He’s pretty sure there’s food in the fridge and dirty dishes in the sink to give away their presence. He considers telling Dally this, but decides against it. Dallas leans against the door, watching as Johnny flails into his jeans jacket and his shoes. He drinks from the carton, then opens the door for Johnny and says; 

“I’ll climb back out the window.”

Johnny doesn’t get a chance to answer before Dallas closes the door and locks it. 

 

Johnny walks slowly down the stairs and along the pavement, correcting his clothes. The morning is still young, the sun hasn’t fully risen yet and there’s a soft glow through the neighbourhood. Johnny feels clueless. Last night he fell asleep with Dallas’ arm around him, holding his hand and… He lets his finger gently touch the nape of his neck where he thinks he felt Dallas press a kiss last night. He must have dreamt. He finds nothing in the night before which would warrant a cold version of Dallas this morning. Dallas never shakes him awake, he knows how scared it makes him. Johnny drops it all as he spots Dallas crossing the backyard. 

“Where to now?” he asks cheerily. Sometimes it’s best to pretend not to see how torn up Dallas really is. 

“I’ve got to uh… I’ve got stuff to take care of,” Dallas says. He lights a cigarette and hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. He looks down the road, even though there’s no one there.  

“I can help,” Johnny says, but he knows that Dal’s going to say no. Dallas takes a drag and exhales the smoke slowly. He stomps the tip of his shoes against the asphalt, looking at it intently. 

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll uh. I’ll do it by myself. You should go home.” Dallas scratches his forehead and pauses for a moment.

“Okay,” Johnny says, his heart sinking into his stomach. Dallas turns around. He leaves only a trail of smoke behind him as he strides off into the morning. 

 

Johnny heads to the Curtis’ house for a shower. When he enters, Sodapop is sitting on the floor of the living room, eating cake. Tim is lying on the couch and is in the process of folding a newspaper. 

“Did you find Dally?” Soda asks as Johnny pauses by the door. He doesn’t bother to take his eyes off the tv. 

“Yeah,” Johnny breathes, his head still spinning with what went down earlier. In the corner of his eye he notices Soda and Tim sharing a look across the room. 

“Where’s he now?” Tim asks with a faint tone of amusement.

“I don’t know,” Johnny answers. His body is sore from walking across town in the sunny morning. His anxiety is rumbling in the back of his mind and he really needs that shower. And a smoke.

“Is Pony in?” 

Tim looks at him across the room, and like a few days earlier, it’s as if he  _ knows _ something that Johnny doesn’t. There’s recognition and… pity? Johnny Cade doesn’t trade in the currency of pity. He doesn’t need it and he doesn’t hand it out to others either. He puts his hand on his hip and raises an eyebrow, turning to Soda instead. 

“Pony’s in our room,” Soda says finally. Johnny nods and pats the pocket of his jeans to take out the pack of smokes he bought from Soda the other day. When he can’t find it, he checks his jacket to no avail. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Only Dallas Winston can get that amount of desperation onto a man’s face,” Tim says from the couch. It’s meant to be mocking, but doesn’t quite come off as such. 

“Does anyone have a smoke?” Johnny asks very, very slowly in order to keep his voice steady. Soda whips around to look at him. 

“You got a new pack the other day!” he chastises, his eyebrows soon merging with his hairline. “You shouldn’t smoke that much, Johnny, it ain’t good for you.”

Johnny drops his hand and levels Soda with a look. “I didn’t smoke them all. I forgot them back at…” He trails off. It isn’t his thing to tell. “Nevermind.” 

He turns on his heels and finds Tim holding a cigarette to him. He accepts it without acknowledgement and Tim lights it. He looks like he’s about to say something as he pockets the lighter, but changes his mind. Johnny sighs with relief and leaves the room to find Pony. 

  
  


-

 

Dallas disappears. Tim leaves the Curtis’ house and storms back in a few hours later to demand Dallas’ location from Johnny. Apparently there was a crowbar in the windshield of Tim’s car. Johnny replays that night on the couch in his mind over and over again, trying to find something that could have made Dallas want to run. He finds nothing, his mind getting hung up on the gentle brush of lips against his skin every time. Darry and Soda checks with the police station to see if he’s back in the cooler. He’s not. He’s just gone. One night, playing poker with Pony, Steve and Tim, some of the people who know Dallas to some degree, Johnny says;

“I don’t understand why he does that. Disappears like this.”

“‘Cause he’s Dallas. He does that.” Steve grabs his beer and stands up to leave. 

Tim leans on the table and looks straight into Johnny’s eyes. “Some people, Johnny… have restlessness in their bones. They simply don’t know how to stay. That doesn’t mean that they don’t know how to hold onto things… or people. He’ll be back.”

 

Five days later, when Johnny’s walking home from Buck’s he hears steps following him. A glance over his shoulder tells him something is moving in the shadows behind him, but it’s too dark to make out details. He takes a deep breath. It’s a chilly night as the sun hasn’t been spotted for days and rain clouds hang heavy in the air, yet refusing to fall. The winds grabs hold of Johnny and the steps behind him picks up their pace. He slowly reaches for the blade in his back pocket. Whoever’s behind him must have seen the movement and known what he was about to do because they break into a run and before Johnny can pull out the switchblade someone grabs his arm. Johnny manages to grip the knife’s handle and flicks the blade out. His attacker doesn’t flinch or hesitate at the sound of the blade snapping out. Johnny hurls around and is immediately pushed against the brick wall behind him. The attacker is still gripping his arm and slams it into the wall. Pain shoots through Johnny’s arm to his hand and the switchblade clatters as it lands on the pavement. 

 

The attacker is close and Johnny knows he has to create some space if this is going to be an even fight. He braces against the wall and puts his foot at the attacker’s hip, pushing him away with all the force he can gather. The attacker stumbles backwards, into the light of a streetlamp and… it’s a familiar face that’s suddenly illuminated by the soft, yellow light. It makes his hair look golden and his eyes shimmering. There’s something urgent about him. 

“Dallas,” Johnny says sharply, exhaling. “What are you doing?” 

It’s not a question as much as it is an accusation. Dallas lingers in the light of the streetlamp, a few feet away. Johnny tries to catch his breath. Adrenaline is still rushing through his body, making him shake with leftover energy. 

Dallas leaps forward and Johnny flinches backwards. 

“What are you…”

 

Dallas slowly reaches out and grabs the collar of Johnny’s jeans jacket. He tugs and Johnny has to take a step forward. The tension becomes palpable. There’s a familiarity in Dallas’ eyes that makes Johnny shiver in a whole new way. This is what Dallas Winston looks like right before he’s about to throw the first punch in a fight. Johnny can feel the warmth of Dallas’ breath, that’s how close they are and he really doesn’t have any time to think about what this  _ means _ before Dallas gently pulls at his jacket again and then his lips are on Dallas’. They’re just as soft as Johnny always imagined they’d be. Johnny opens his mouth a bit and Dallas is not hesitant. His other hand finds its way to the small of Johnny’s back. Johnny is stunned at how quickly he’s responding, it’s like his brain for once in his life decided to be quiet. Eventually reality hits, as it always does and Johnny turns his head to the side. Dallas doesn’t back away and his eyes are soft as he looks at Johnny. He says nothing. 

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Johnny says under his breath. He’s still shaking and now he can’t tell if it’s because of the adrenaline from the fight or the kiss or if it’s simply the fact that Dallas goddamn Winston just fucking kissed him in the street. 

“I’m all about bad ideas,” Dallas answers, a smile tugging at the serious expression he tries to maintain. “Haven’t you learned that by now?” 

 

He rests his forehead against Johnny’s and Johnny sighs with relief. This is unexpected. This is not what was supposed to happen. This is dangerous, but he’d be a liar if he claimed the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He’d be a liar if he said his stomach didn’t flop around when he saw Dallas, or that he felt more comfortable around him than anyone else. Johnny has slept countless nights by Dallas’ side and a few mornings he has woken up wrapped in Dallas’ arms and he’d be a liar if he said that those morning weren’t the best of mornings. Johnny is a lot of things, but he is not a goddamn liar, so he accepts the situation. The embrace is warm and shelters from the chilling wind. Johnny lets his lips tentatively brush against Dallas’. 

“We shouldn’t do this out here, Dal,” he says and Dallas nods. 

“Let’s go over to my room at Buck’s.” He lets go of Johnny and reaches for Johnny’s switchblade, which is still lying on the ground. He folds it and hands it over. 

“You better keep this,” he says, looking grim for a moment. “You might need it.”

“I could have cut you, you know,” Johnny replies as he slides the blade back into his back pocket. 

“No. You wouldn’t have.” Dallas sounds confident, but Johnny isn’t. He doesn’t say anything though, he starts walking down the street. Dallas slings his arm over across Johnny’s shoulders. 

 

-

 

Dallas leaves the lights off in his room, there’s enough of a glow coming through the windows for them to find and admire each other. Dallas is sitting on his bed, Johnny straddling his thighs and leaning in to kiss him again. They’re both ut of breath and a bit lost in the closeness of the other. Clothes land on the floor. Wounds and bruises gets gently inspected and kissed better. Kisses are pressed onto hands and over chests. Hands fumble over muscles and nails scrape against backs. It’s wordless and breathless, all-consuming. 

 

An hour later Johnny lies next to Dallas on the bed, just having caught his breath. Dallas’ eyes are closed, but Johnny knows he’s awake. The covers are pooling around Dallas’ hips and Johnny takes a moment to just admire that he’s here, that Dallas is here and that they just let each other as close as you can get. Dallas looks peaceful like this and it makes Johnny smile helplessly. His anxiety backdrop seems to have taken the night off as well. While feeling this easy and brave, Johnny cuts to the chase. 

“You can’t disappear on me every time something messes with your head, Dallas.” 

Dallas looks over at him, his expressions falling into one another, like he can’t decide on how to react to this. 

“Just let me know when you go,” Johnny says calmly. “I’m not trying to keep you here. I know you, Dal. Just… just let me know you’re not dead in a ditch.”

At that, Dallas lets out a chuckle. He turns, facing Johnny, who reaches out to caress his arm. 

“I think I can do that,” Dallas says and it almost sounds like a promise. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think.


End file.
